Always Here
by Eratta
Summary: Penname changed. A post-epvignette in the aftermath of 'The Seventh'. This is a TT shipper. Please R


Always Here  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, so please don't ask for any rights. And remember, a responsible reader leaves reviews.  
  
Summary: This is a little something I thought up after seeing 'The Seventh' yesterday. I kinda wondered how Trip reacted to T'Pol's (she must have been acting at least a LITTLE strange) behavior after they got back. It's definitely a T/T; short, and so sweet it could make your teeth rot. I'm in a very romantic mood so bear with me.  
  
Trip Tucker sighed in his own cabin. He would never admit it, but the past couple days had be pretty tough on him. He had thought that it would be nice to be acting captain for a change. It happened so rarely that he had taken full advantage of the situation, using the captain's dining privileges and enjoying the captain's chair. Little did he know just how difficult his best friend's job could be.  
  
First, it was those minor decisions that made him so jumpy. Like whether or not to let Phlox inoculate the crew against a virus or to take the warp engines offline so Malcolm to tinker in his armory. He didn't want to be responsible for giving the crew 'the runs' and he definitely didn't like the idea of taking his precious baby offline. And then, as if things couldn't be bad enough, he had posed as Jon only to be told a very important message regarding a polo match. Great. Just great.  
  
Needless to say, he had been relieved when they came back. Sure, he was still curious and a little irritated that Jon wouldn't share the secret, but after all, it was T'Pol's business. And he's rather sit in a Jefferies tube all day than have her be angry with him for snooping again.  
  
As he changed out of his uniform into normal clothes, he thought about the Subcommander. Was it just his imagination, or did she look. . .different? Something about her wasn't right, and Jon knew what it was. A slight twinge of annoyance made his cheeks bloom into a pale rose. He decided that some food would help clear up his brain, and made his way to the door. But the thoughts just wouldn't go away. Why did she trust him over anyone else? What did Jon have that he, Trip, didn't?  
  
"Whoa, that sounded too much like jealousy, Trip old boy." His inner voice chided as he strolled down the corridor towards the mess hall. And yet, why did she favor Jon above the others? Why couldn't she have asked him to come along, or hell, even Malcolm would have been just as logical a choice. He was the security officer, for Pete's sake!  
  
As he stepped into the large room, he almost grimaced. There was only one other person in the room: the captain himself." He turned when he heard the door open, and offered Trip a smile.  
  
"I see you still keep late hours. Pull up a chair and tell me what message Forrest had for me."  
  
"It was about the game. Nearly made me shit my pants, lyin' to a Vulcan over somethin' like that!"  
  
Archer chuckled as he sipped his decaf coffee. He then turned thoughtful, looking out the view port at the streaks of light. It was strange, how those stars could be so cold and at the same time, so comforting. Much like T'Pol, he realized with a mysterious grin.  
  
Trip noticed, and again let out a loud sigh.  
  
"Somethin' you'd care t'share, or is it another secret?" He asked sourly.  
  
His best friend looked at him sharply, wondering whether that question implied what he thought it did.  
  
"I was just thinking about T'Pol."  
  
Though he couldn't figure out why, Trip stiffened, as if readying himself for a blow. He held his breath as the captain continued,  
  
"I just think, . . .well, lets put it this way," he stated, putting down his mug and looking the commander straight in the eye.  
  
"Technically, we're supposed to know nothing about her mission, so what I'm going to tell you never leaves this room. Got it?"  
  
Trip nodded solemly, carefully releasing his breath. "Down there. . .something happened that triggered painful memories. She got emotional, and almost lost her head."  
  
Trip's mouth hung agape as he tried to comprehend. T'Pol nearly loosing her head? Nah, impossible. She was as cool as a cucumber in the crisper drawer and just as devoid of emotions too. Nothing ever fazed her. That last thought was almost proud, he realized in horror. What the hell was goin' on with him? He'd have to sort that out later.  
  
"Is she gonna be okay?"  
  
"Yeah, but she might be acting a little strange for a while. Probably a little more distant, if that's even possible. Just try not to rile her up, okay?"  
  
Trip sat back and crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the table in front of him but not really seeing anything. T'Pol had a problem, and he was supposed to ignore it. Christ, this was worse than not knowing anything at all! What the hell was he supposed to do, just sit on his hands and ignore the fact that she was struggling with herself? It was too much. He rose abruptly, eliciting a surprised look from Jon.  
  
"Where're you off to?"  
  
"Think I'll go down t'the gym; lift some weights." He mumbled quickly. Before Archer could say another word, he was gone, leaving Archer alone; hearing only the gentle hum of the engines far below.  
  
As Trip waited in the turolift, he tried to rationalize his thought to himself. 'Well, so what if I was curious? Like I said the other day, as acting captain I have t'know where my people are.' The lift stopped, and he stormed out, heading for the storage bay that had become the gym. He didn't realize that his body had tensed during his mental battles with himself. "So what if I care if she's alright? Sh'se a member of the crew, right? And what kinda man would I be if I wasn't concerned forr a woman with troubles?" The other side of his brain argued that this wasn't an ordinary woman. This was T'Pol, the Vulcan whom he'd nearly shot once and who never failed to put him in his place.  
  
Hell, she was almost more of a man than a woman, he reasoned. Well, if you could ignore her impressive body. She never got jealous or PMS-y, like other women did, and he was willing to bet she never gave ANY signals to anyone. But the other side of the argument retorted, "You dumbasss, you know she's a woman through and through. You just can't admit that ya might actually like her as something more than a friend." What?! Where the hell had that come from?! He couldn't have feelings for her! She was the most disagreeable, arrogant little thing to come his way in years. Nah, he couldn't possibly be attracted to her, he decided firmly. Right then and there he ended the argument, uncomfortable with where it was going, and more importantly, what it was going to reveal.  
  
As he accessed the panel to the storage bay, hearing the sound of a treadmill. That's odd, he said to himself. Who else would be up so late? As the door opened to admit him, he fervently prayed that it wasn't her. But of course, the universe was against Commander Tucker from the start, and he saw T'Pol on the treadmill.  
  
He swore silently, hoping he could keep his mouth shut now that he knew a little about her mission. With a curt nod, he walked past her to the weights rack and began to do some curls. They spent a few minutes in silence, each focusing on their own exercise. Glancing at her, he noticed that she looked normal. There was nothing to indicate that she was upset. Determined not to look any further, he turned away; a false contentment in the air.  
  
The truth of the matter was that today was definitely not T'Pol's day. After speaking with the captain, she had tried to return to work, but was unable to concentrate. She just kept seeing flashes of Jossen's face, and it made the guilt more acute. As the rest of the day wore on, she had also been unable to sleep or eat. Finally, after an entire afternoon of idleness, she made herself go down to the 'gym', her goal was to work off some of that nervous energy. She had forgotten how draining emotional reactions could be. She had been here now for over 20 minutes, and still she couldn't seem to relax. Her body was tense, and she running wasn't helping anything. She wasn't even sufficiently tired. That was when Commander Tucker had walked in. He was uncharacteristically silent, but maybe that was because he could see she didn't want to talk. Then another thought entered her mind: Was she really that obvious?" Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and got off the treadmill. She proceeded directly to the punch bag suspended by the wall, and began to punch and kick it.  
  
Trip watched her work off some energy on the bag before shaking his head. She wasn't doing it right, and was only succeeding at making herself tired. Putting the weights back, he slowly approached her. Coming to stand in front of her and the bag, he waited. T'Pol was put off, and began to dread the coming conversation.  
  
"What can (pant) I do for you (pant)?"  
  
"Nothing, I was just wonderin' if you wanted some help."  
  
Her eyes flashed as she glanced at him. Yep, she was definitely having an emotional reaction.  
  
"I don't (pant) require assistance."  
  
Shaking his head, Trip grabbed the sides of the bag and held it steady, coaching her.  
  
"Now, go in for the punch, but keep your wrist and elbow soft. Don't jam yer joints either."  
  
T'Pol set her jaw and did as he instructed. It was so odd, this thing that was happening to her. Unwittingly, she pictured the bag as Menos. As she punched, her anger level rose significantly. How dare he manipulate her to catch her off guard. How dare he play upon her guilt to further his own corrupt interests. She should have killed him there on the moon, sending him to join his former accomplice in the afterlife!  
  
As her last inner words dawned on her, she gasped in self-horror. Her punch was ill-aimed and struck the side of the bag, sending her wheeling off- balance into Trip's ready arms. He had watched in growing apprehension as she grew angrier and more aggressive. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she was too mad to focus, and had been ready for anything that might happen. He expected her to sag against him only for a moment, but was shocked when she made no move to right herself. What she did next broke his heart.  
  
When he had caught her and looked into her face, the rest of T'Pol's logic and resistance seeped from her brain. She simply didn't have the strength to fight the guilt now, and she was frightened. She was frightened of herself. She had killed one innocent man and almost destroyed another. Granted, her reasons for killing Menos would have been valid, but the idea of taking another life terrified her. For the first time in her life, T'Pol despaired. How was she supposed to deal with this? When she tried, the feelings engulfed her, leaving her helpless, much like she was now. And for the first time since she was a child, T'Pol succumbed to the only response left. She wept.  
  
As the warm wetness coursed down his neck and shirt, Trip's only thought was to find the bastard who had reduced her to this and thoroughly beat him up. What could have happened to render her helpless like this? He carefully lowered her to the ground, but when she refused to let go of his neck, he gathered her close and sat against the wall with her.  
  
He couldn't tell if it was minutes or hours that he had been holding her, but he was content to do nothing more. Eventually, her soft weeping became bitter and hard. She shuddered violently against him as her moans turned into low keens. It sounded like an infant; weak and new, as if coming from undeveloped vocal chords. He decided to sooth her like he would a child, and he just held her closer, crooning softy to her.  
  
"Don't worry honey, it's gonna be okay. It over now, you'll be okay."  
  
After a while, she could cry no more and she simply lay in his arms, quietly sniffling as she took comfort from the sweeping path his large hand took up and down her back. After a few quiet moments, she pulled away, staring at her lap. Quietly, she offered,  
  
"I apologize. I have. . .been under much stress recently."  
  
He put his hand over her own, warming it. She shyly looked up into his kind blue eyes.  
  
"I know. Maybe you should try ta get some sleep now, huh?"  
  
"Yes." She nodded sleepily. She had just recently discovered how exhausting crying could be. They stood, and he put his arm out to steady her.  
  
"I'll walk ya to yer quarters." When she was ready, they walked out of the 'gym'. The walk was silent; both were terribly uncomfortable with what had just happened. Trip was disturbed with how snuggly she fit in his arms. Even weirder was how normal and right it felt to hold her. It was like she belonged with him, and that was just fuckin' freaky.  
  
T'Pol was also at odds. After crying, she felt much better and she was actually tired. But it was disturbing to think about how good it felt to be in his arms. It was so comforting and felt so wonderful to be with him. She tried to snap herself back to reality, reminding herself that she was Vulcan and that these thoughts were completely unacceptable. But that simply wasn't working. She was too tired to fight herself, she thought defiantly. She needed sleep and she could work this out some other day.  
  
They arrived at her quarters, and before she accessed the panel, he took her gently by the shoulders. She yielded, and met his gaze. Strange warmth developed in her stomach as she saw his concern. It was touching that he wanted to help, but didn't press her for any information. She smiled to herself. He had come so far in his quest to understand her.  
  
"Well, um, I guess this is goodnight."  
  
She nodded, then added, "Yes. Thank you again. I appreciate it."  
  
She accessed the door, but again he stopped her.  
  
"If you ever want to, you know, talk about it, I'm here."  
  
The corners of her mouth turned up as her eyes softened.  
  
"I know." She confirmed quietly.  
  
Knowing they had come to an understanding, Trip backed away and let her enter her cabin. As he turned and proceeded to his own room, he smiled. This was going to be tough on her, but she was strong. She was going to make it, and he, Trip Tucker, was going to see that it was as easy as possible.  
  
*FIN* 


End file.
